The Charter always has a plan
by Traidy
Summary: The first moment of passion between Sabriel and Touchstone. Warring feelings conflict with tender emotions. Is technically based on the arc story I'm writing for this series, but is currently a one-shot because I haven't posted the actually story yet.


She sat morose in the South Lawn, perched on the fountain's edge. From here, she had view of both courtyards, and their entrances. She could not say for how long she sat there, waiting for her father to appear from either side, striding through with his intent to make it to the House. Mogget was a sleepy fellow, no longer a source of snarky humor to snap her from her thoughts. He would most likely be in a bed room some place, dozing.

What would she do without either of their guidance? Of course she would have preferred her father's, but if she could not have his, than Mogget for sure.

She pressed her hand against the once wound in her belly, now a achy bright scar against her alabaster skin. Her face burned in remembrance of the night Touchstone offered to heal it, only three days after their journey over the wall.

She and another mage at the wall had healed his leg enough to walk, and she took it up to apply some charter to it each night as they trekked to the house. By the time they arrived, it gave him minimal pain, that he was admitting to. It was their first night in the house, and she found herself a victim of the Sendings mercy.

They scrubbed her, as they had always done, and she welcomed it. They were tender with her wound which still bled, and applied ointments and bandages, only for it to bleed through at supper. Touchstone had helped her silently to the parlor, a hand keeping his napkin pressed tightly to her stomach, where a Sending met them.

She had tried to tell him she wasn't bleeding out, that the wound was no more life threatening than the ache in his leg, but he didn't seem to hear her.

He had turned his back while she had unbuttoned her night gown to her navel, allowing the Sending to press a warm wet cloth to her wound.

She winced, and then held her breath as he returned to her side to kneel next to her. His hand hovered over her stomach, his face turned up to her.

"If you'd let me... I can..." She bit her lip, feeling her face heat up. She could remember nodding, having not been able to find her voice.

The warmth of the Charter as it soaked into her skin, mended her muscles and flesh caused shivers to race up her spine. He sweated from the effort, she could remember hesitantly brushing a drop off his brow before it fell into his eyes. She noted how he was entirely focused on his hand, his gaze never once straying, despite the deep breaths she was forcing herself to take and the quivering her stomach did. It was just a few minutes of quiet, their breathing and the the crackle of wood in the hearth. When he finally sat back on his heels, he wiped an arm across his face.

"That's the best I can do right now, I'm sorry. I was taught battle magic, with only enough healing to get a man through the night..." She clutched her night gown closed and gave him a wane smile. "Thank you." She was tense from her toes to her ears. They stared at one another for an awkwardly long moment before he flushed, mumbled something, and began buttoning up her gown. When one of his calloused fingers accidentally brushed against her sternum, he recoiled like he'd been burnt, and she flinched.

"I can do that..." She rushed, hastily pushing each button through its hole.

With averted eyes, he rose to his feet and gave her a slight bow, before stopping himself with a wry grin. "Good night." He blurted, ducking out of the room.

Sleep would not easy to her that night, as it hadn't the nights prior, but this was for an entirely different reason.

Her insides were in a constant state of fluttering, a feeling she couldn't quite understand or explain.

At last, as the predawn birds came to life out her open window, she understood what had come over her.

She was lusting for her companion. Even just thinking those thoughts sent her into a tizzy. She then spent the better part of a half hour arguing that she had no reason to be so physically reactive to him, they had been traveling for nearly a month together, and not once had such ideas entered her head. But now, in the calmness of the House, with no immediate threat or destination, her body (or mind) decided that _now_ it was attracted to her Touchstone. Her skin felt sensitive to the touch, like she had a fever, and her mind was a bit of a whirlwind.

Did he think the same thing?

Her chastity teacher would have her head, but Sabriel was no fool. She knew enough to know what went on between a man and woman, how babies were made, and how a proper wife should behave. But she was not one of the loose girls from the village, nor would she ever be a _proper_ wife now, perhaps she would never be a mother either. These things all spun in her head, mucking up her thoughts.

She lay in bed until a Sending came to fetch her for breakfast.

By the time she made it to the table, she'd given herself a headache with her constant switch between scientific reasoning for her body's response to the hellfire words of abstinence. Sex was messy, literally and figuratively.

She had no business messing with it when she was no more prepared to rear babies than she was to slay the hordes of dead that awaited her. Not to mention the emotions! Could she afford to get so distracted? Could she afford to get close to someone, just to have them snatched away like her father?

But seated across from the damp Touchstone, she realized she didn't want him to leave. Where would he go anyway?

She raised an eyebrow at his damp curls and pink nose, and he looked down at the table with a churlish response of an early morning bath.

The oddity of the statement was lost to the breakfast rolls, and he seemed to recover from his discomfort as the meal went on.

He offered to have another look at her wound, after a nap. It was Mogget's sassy remark of 'poor sleep?' that sent the man back into his silence, and Sabriel found herself wondering about his flushed throat and face.

She too blushed as she snapped her eyes rather meanly in Mogget's direction. "I did not sleep all that much either." She hissed before giving Touchstone a glance. He was watching her, a peculiar look in his eyes. But it was gone as soon as she saw it, and he was excusing himself from the table to retreat upstairs.

So here she was, sitting on the edge of the fountain, waiting for something that was never to happen, her father to come home. She knew he was gone, truly, she did. Astarael was final, there was nothing more direct than the Book of the Dead, and it had made it more than clear. The ringer and all those who heard it were thrown so far into death, and her father, he had only been alive for a hundred hundred heartbeats. He'd said so himself.

But it didn't mean she didn't wish it, it didn't mean that there wasn't a vacant hole in her chest that felt like her life was pouring out of her.

It didn't mean she didn't dream of him, of saving him, or him saving her.

And this was his home. Where else but here would he return to now that his line's greatest foe was bound?

But he was not here, and this was her house now.

That did not mean she could bring herself to sleep in his room, despite the fact that it had been cleared of his clothes and books.

So she slept in one of the lesser bedrooms, closest to the armory, ignoring the frustrated motions of the Sendings as they urged her to the master suite.

She was startled out of her thoughts when Touchstone settled across from her, hands tucked into the pockets of a large cloak.

He offered it to her but she just shook her head. Her hands and feet were numb from the cold already, but she enjoyed the chill right now.

With the sun out, it was biting cold, but not life concerning, especially with the indoors just a short walk away.

"What now?" He asked, frowning at some birds flitting about in the trees. She shrugged, holding her arms across her chest, rather self-conscious about her cold breast pressing against the thin material of her shirt. She hadn't intended on spending much time outdoors when she had dressed, and opted for a thin blue linen shirt over soft full breeches. Her feet were ridiculously bare after she left her house slippers at the door, but the rough stone had felt comforting at the time. Now she couldn't feel much of anything in her toes.

"I'll need to repair the bells, and clean the others. And then, start purging, I guess. I've neglected things long enough." She sighed, dropping a hand to dangle into the chilled fountain water. Charter magic kept it flowing all year round no doubt. This place practically breathed charter magic.

"I'll go with you." He said, his voice much gruffer than she was expecting. "I'll follow where ever you go." She looked into his face to find that peculiar emotion from earlier there. His eyes were fierce and she realized he expected her to argue.

But she had no fight in her right now.

She smiled, nodding.

"Sure, if that's what you want." She expected his shoulder to fall slack, to see some the tension run from his muscles, but he sat stiff as a board.

She watched in rapt attention as he slowly moved toward, like he was sure she would startle and take flight.

He stopped just short of kissing her, one hand hovering over her shoulder, the other braced between them on the stone.

She could see the question in his eyes, the one he didn't know he didn't need to ask.

Reaching up, she slid her hand to grasp his jaw, pulling him the small distance between them.

It was different from the kisses they had shared so far.

This one was everything her girl hood friends had explained a kiss should be. Her mouth tingled, and her breath got caught in her throat, and her lashes fluttered against her cheek.

But it was also something they had never described. A hunger, stronger than she had ever felt, rose within like the tide.

When she leaned back to take in air, she was startled by the boiling in the pit of her stomach. It was a queasy, thrilling feeling, one she wanted to both stop and push further.

It was her who rose up to meet him again, threading her free hand through the hairs on his neck, pulling him closer.

He was _warm_ and _solid_ , something she hadn't realized she was craving until she was half in his arms. The ache from her stomach wound was a distant distraction, one that was drowned out by the heady feeling of one arm wrapped tightly around her middle and another pressed against the outside of her thigh, keeping them both balanced.

It was entirely like a dance, she thought offhandedly, but definitely not like any dance she had been taught. They separated, then came together, sometimes long seconds between each gasp for air, other times quick pecks at one another. It was wild and clumsy, she thought, when at one point she kissed his chin having missed his mouth. But something shifted, one or the both of them, and suddenly she was no longer the one leaning over him to pepper him with kisses. He had taken control of the kiss, she realized with a whirl of excitement. She was leaned entirely into him, not supporting any of her own weight, bent back slightly so that he could now lean over her.

He slowed her feather quick kisses, clutching her close to him. She felt the thrill zip through her body when she realized the hand he used to support them was buried in her hair, and that he was strong enough to hold the both of them without bracing.

Without thinking much, she dropped her hand from his face, letting her fingers follow his throat until she reached the collar of his shirt, gripping it tightly. She wasn't sure what she wanted though, so decided to focus more on what he was trying to show her with his mouth. He was slow in response to her quick kisses, catching her mouth and not letting go for long moments. And when she was too fast for him, he'd brush his thumb against her lips, pressing down on one corner, then the other, tilting her head which ever way he wanted it for the next kiss.

She was frustrated with that, she wanted to burn this fire within her up, and it seemed that the more kisses she could give (or get) would help.

He continued with this slow assault, brushing his tongue against her lips in each long hold, and she made a frustrated noise in the back on her throat.

She didn't know what he wanted. She was about to try and return to her better vantage point when he retreated such a small distance, his words were practically said into her mouth.

"Open." And then he was there again, a slow burn in her lungs, belly and heart. But this time, she listened, and parted her lips just as she felt his tongue. She wasn't sure what he intended because he retreated almost immediately, only to haul her physically closer and and allow her a quick breath before he returned. This time, he wasted no time, spearing in-between her opened lips to tangle with her tongue.

A few things happened at once then.

It was peculiar having someone else's tongue in her mouth, but not entirely unpleasant. He tasted of sweet mint, and a little zing of something shot through her. At nearly the same time, her body, entirely without her authority, moved against his. She was clutching at his throat and hair when her sensitive breast, already squished between his chest and her, rubbed her shirt, which had not seemed so coarse moments ago. The same zing of _something_ that drew her to chase his tongue back into his own mouth shot from her breasts and zipped straight to the apex of her thighs, creating a dull thudding ache that startled her.

She must have made a noise of surprise, or shock, or she couldn't even decide, because the next moment, he's pulled away from her mouth and she's grasping his chest, her face tucked into the curve of his neck and shoulder, heaving for air. He still has one arm wrapped tightly around her, but the one that had such a firm hold on her head is back to being braced on the stone of the fountain. She realized he is gasping too, his chest working like he'd just run a great distance.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." She pants, knowing it was her startled response to _pleasure_ that caused them to stop. Caused _him_ to stop.

She can feel him shaking his head, taking deep breaths, and tremoring.

"Give me a moment..." He breathes. She feels desperate, and wants to return to that burning feeling, but can not even see his face, so she kisses the closest thing. His throat falls victim to her quick pecks, and when she finds she can crane her head just so much, she can get the underside of his jaw. She wants to show him that it was a mistake, but she is fine now, that she wants him to kiss her like _that_ again. He makes a noise, and she can feel it roll from his vocal chords to her mouth through his skin, the knot in his throat bobbing.

He sits up, pushing her away, but still keeping a grip on her.

"No..." He cautions, prying her hands off of him and holding them still.

She would be lying if she didn't feel like she was being rejected. Her body, which had been so flushed with emotion was running cold now.

She felt stupid.

"I'm sorry..." He tells her, and it bites into her like a punch to the face. She doesn't want to hear the excuses, she knows he is probably used to more experienced women, but it still smarts her pride. "...I shouldn't have let it go that far. That was wrong of me..." He sighs, draping one side of his cloak over her. "I just wanted, you looked so sad, I wanted to replace that. And by the Charter, you are frozen through, we should head inside. I think it may snow again." He didn't give her much chance to argue as he hurried her up the path and into the house.

Then he left her there, standing in the overly warm kitchen, getting feeling back into her frozen feet, still wrapped in his cloak.

She had never felt more like a child than she had now.

He found her again in the music room, plunking away sullenly at the keys of a piano she hadn't know was there before.

He settled in next to her on the bench, and she half expected him to start playing some grand piece, but he just doodled with some children's chords, messing most up. He shrugged with a frown at her raised eyebrow.

"My siblings used to show me what they learned, but I guess 220 years of rust does add up." She felt a pang of loneliness for him, not unlike the one she felt for her father no doubt.

They were silent, and dour, neither willing to speak what was on their mind.

Finally she could take no more.

Chancing a glance at him from the corner of her eye, she closed the fallboard gently.

"I want you to kiss me again." She said softly. He half turned to look at her, then leaned down suddenly to press a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth, retreating just as quickly. She pressed her fingers to her mouth and shook her head, feeling her cheeks heat in shyness.

"That's not what I meant." She murmured, dropping her hand.

He shrugged again. "I know."

She waited for him to continue, to give an excuse, but he remained frustratingly silent.

"Well?" She snipped, folding her arms and turning to glare at him.

He groaned, an altogether different noise from the groan he had made earlier. Just the reminder of it was enough to set her pulse to quickening.

"Sabriel... It isn't _right_." He looked at her, and his gaze could only be described at imploring. "We can't kiss like that, not anymore, we shouldn't have even done it the _first_ time... I didn't expect you to be so, so responsive. Things could have gotten out of hand rather quick." He rubbed his hand across his face, and she thought she could see a faint blush rising up his throat. It felt like there was something hidden in his words, like he was saying one thing, but really meaning another. She pursed her lips.

"I was fine, just surprised is all." She huffed. "I was fine going on, you only kissed me _once_ like that, you didn't even give me a chance to..." She didn't know how to end her sentence, couldn't find the words to express herself. Instead she just made a noise, dropping her hands dramatically unto her lap. He shook his head, his hand still covering his mouth. He was watching her carefully.

He spoke slowly, as if testing each word before he said them.

"We should not have continued; any more 'going on' and we would have been fit for slaughter, so to speak..."

He was speaking in tongues, she was sure. When the obvious confusion that clouded her face reached him, his eyes flashed, as if conveying the message straight to her brain.

 _Sex_

A thrill of _pleasure_ , she realized that is what that the zip of electricity was, shot through her. Her nerve endings ignited, while her stomach bubbled in nervousness.

If they'd have kept going, more than likely, he'd have taken her to bed.

Or mayhap he'd have taken her right there, on the fountain wall. The very idea was scandalous, not to mention the idea of sex itself. So much so that she felt her face and chest ignite, no doubt a deep shade of red. She stared down at the fallboard, picking idly at a blemish of the wood. A nick of some type, perhaps from a blade, or other sharp instrument.

She fought against her embarrassment, ready to prove she was mature enough to handle this conversation.

After a deep breath, she managed to stutter out something.

"We can kiss without having...sssex." She swallowed hard, willing herself to push on. "We just have to stop before... _that."_ After all, sex just didn't _happen_. Her head snapped up at his groan, and for a moment, she thought he was laughing at her.

But when he met her gaze, his eyes were alight from within, a fire that fueled the growing... she couldn't even describe what it was... within her.

"I want you too much to have you breathless and needy in my arms again, knowing I can't..."

That was the word she was looking for.

 _Needy_.

Her body was needy, it needed him to kiss her, touch her. It needed things she didn't understand, didn't know. It was rather frightening.

It was her body, and she had never been so out of control of it. She was breathless and needy now. It felt like her lungs suddenly forgot how to take in air.

"Why can't you?" She stammered. Her fingers were gripping the fallboard so hard they were turning white.

He dropped his head into the crook of his arm, resting his forehead against the fallboard.

"Sweet, you should only take one man into your bed, didn't your school teach you anything?" He growled, somewhere between humor and agitation.

Ah.

There it was.

He was trying to protect her virtue. The same when he had claimed to be her guardsman, as that was more acceptable than an unmarried woman and man roaming together.

She bit the inside of her cheek, drumming her fingers, her mind thinking quickly.

"Are you always so noble-minded with all of your bed mates?" She snapped, telling herself she wasn't angry.

She was.

He frowned at her, shoulders tense.

"What happened in my time, it has no baring now..." He said slowly, watching her closely. Her mouth opened before she had a chance to curb herself.

"Exactly! A lot has changed in 200 years!" She knew it was callous comment, knew that it found it's home when he flinched.

But he didn't rise to the bait, and instead stared out across the room for a quiet moment. When he turned to meet her gaze his eyes were sharp and she found it difficult to swallow around a lump in her throat.

"Has it?" He searched her face for what seemed like hours, only to slide off the bench and walk calmly from the room.

She wanted to throw something, but reined her temper in. Nothing in this house felt like hers, and she would feel ashamed at the outburst later.

At supper, they were silent, and she excused herself early. She paced her room as she thought over their words, his and her own.

What was the right move here?

She was sure she loved him; never had she cared for someone so much. She cared what he thought, of her and of the things they had to do. She worried about his well-being, and she wanted him to be happy. A vicious part of added the 'with her'. She wanted him to be happy, with her. She wanted to be enough for him.

Did she want to marry him? Who was she to say? She was young and never in her plans for her life had she been forced to make this decision. Granted, neither had she ever thought she would have to do what already had been done, tame the dead and save her father, and now, become Abhorsen. Her life wasn't exactly working out how she planned, not that she had much choice. Her path had been chosen for her.

In aggravation, she tossed a thin robe over her night clothes, and headed for the study.

The hour was late, a candle burning low on the table. She really ought to light a new one, but she was half dozing in a chair, a journal she had taken from her father's room open on her lap. It was a previous Abhorsen's, Saranaid. In it were detailed instructions on each of the bells, their care and re casting, among other things.

She had retired back to her room hours earlier, but nightmares kept her from any real sleep, and she had found herself picking through her father's room, looking for any artifact of his that might bring her some comfort.

She was startled awake by a hand brushing against her forehead. She jerked away, but there was no where to go in the high back chair.

"Shhh."

When she could fight the near hysteria and sleep, she realized it was Touchstone kneeling at her side.

Of course, who else would it be?

They were in the House, the most well protected place in the kingdom.

That didn't stop the dreams from convincing her she saw the house go up in flames, hunted through the halls by the mordicant.

"What are you doing up?" She managed to croak, her throat sore from smoke. The fire hadn't been banked properly and was flickering angrily under the ashes, polluting the air. She muttered a curse and sprang from the chair, covering her nose with the edge of her robe.

Her eyes watered, and she gave a surprised grunt as he pushed her back down onto the chair.

"I've got it." He turned, his frame a big blackness in the dim room.

She found the nearest window, and pushed the panes open.

The library had stood the test of how many generations only for her to spoil all the works with smoke from a carelessly tended fire.

She spat another curse, and went to him at the hearth. He was sweeping ashes out, and she noticed the fire was dead now.

The only light came from the lone candle burning on the table, and when that guttered out, they were cast into complete darkness. She cursed quietly again.

She couldn't see his face, but felt him brush her hand as he raised his, bring with it a soft glow of charter magic.

The small globe hovered over their heads, casting just enough light to chase the shadows from their faces.

"How...?" She marveled, reaching out for the spell with delicate fingers. It was warm, in the air, flickering like a candle when her fingers passed through it, but steady when she left it alone.

"More spells return to me each day, small things I couldn't recall, or at least in their entirety." She let her hand fall, grasping the edges of her robe tightly.

He was looking at her again, in that peculiar way of his. She felt a jolt of emotion surge through her once she noticed, her attention so centered on the soft glowing orb she couldn't say how long he'd been staring.

She reached for him, not liking the tension that hovered between them. He took her into his arms, but ignored her up turned face, instead leading her to a settee.

"The smoke brought me up..." He said at length, still keeping hold of her arms as he slouched in besides her.

She looked away from the question in his eyes, but spoke none-the-less.

"I can't sleep, couldn't sleep. Nightmares." She confessed. "I must have dozed off while reading."

Where were the Sendings? Why hadn't one come to bank the fire? Or to wake her?

"Come on, I'll take you back to your room." She didn't want him to take her back, didn't want him to think she was a child that needed guidance back to her bed after a fright.

He had pulled her to her feet when she yanked back, stopping him.

"Can I stay with you?" She whispered, reaching out tentatively for his shirt, her fingertips nearly touching his stomach.

He stepped out of her reach, letting her arms slide from his grip.

"Sabriel..." He warned, putting a hand between them. She dropped her hands and looked down.

"I didn't mean anything... I don't mean, just to sleep, that's all..." She stuttered. It felt like her face was just a constant flame these past few days, like the heat would never leave her.

He made a noise, turning away, pacing a few steps with his hand covering his mouth. She was about to tell him to forget it when he reappeared in her line of vision. Looking into his face, she waited for him to speak. She dared not interrupt whatever was going through his head.

"Charter forgive me, this is a mistake..." He growled. She wanted to spit at him that if it was such a mistake, he could certainly forget it, but drew short when he offered her his hand.

She didn't even hesitate, placing her hand gently in his. She shook off the the chills that danced along her arm when his fingers closed around hers.

He tugged her along, leading her down the stairs, both of them slipping in the dark. They had abandoned his charter light, and found their way by dragging their fingertips along the wall.

When at last they stood in his room, on the opposite side of the main stairs, she thought she might be sick from the fluttering in her stomach.

 _Nervousness._

She was nervous.

He brushed her hair off her shoulder absently.

"Just, sleeping." He said as if to reaffirm it to himself.

His blankets were already tossed to the side from his earlier attempt at sleep, and she wasn't sure what side he preferred to sleep on, so she just waited.

 _Nervously._

He merely turned his back on her, and went to lay more wood on the fire, prodding at the embers.

After a moment, she shuffled over to the least disturbed side of the bed, although the blankets were rather skewed all over. Shedding her thin robe that really offered no more protection from the cold than her nightgown, she slipped onto the bed. The blankets were a tangle, and it took her far longer than she would have liked to sort them out, but eventually, she managed, and laid on her side, facing the far wall.

The warmth of the stoked fire seeped into her back, but she still felt chilled.

Her nerves were hyper aware, causing tremors at the slightest movement.

Her ears picked up every possible noise in the room, wondering what it could be.

Her heart hammered away, and she fought to take in even deep breaths.

When at last, a weight settled on the edge of the bed, she had to hold her breathe for fear of shuddering aloud.

It was nearly pre-dawn when she woke, heart racing, from another night terror. She sat up, not recognizing where she was, gripping the blankets, ready to spring away.

Touchstone lay asleep to her left, one arm tucked behind his head, the other tossed out toward her. Craving the comfort he so subconsciously offered, she scooted so that she could lay her head in the crook of his elbow.

He appeared much younger in sleep, the crease lines in his brow were smooth, and his lips free from the the never-ending frown that graced his face recently. She watched as his eyes moved under their lids, his arm curling to pull her closer.

Perhaps he was dreaming?

She was tempted to trace the lines of his face, his neck; follow the scars and freckles of a life spent in the sun.

Placing as gentle a kiss to the corner of his mouth as possible for fear she might wake him, she settled back down to find perhaps some rest before waking hours.

After a pause of nearly a full breath, her eyes opened again, feeling the need to see him once more. Intelligent grey eyes.

That's what she had seen when she had returned from that spring all those weeks ago. She had such great hopes for a companion then, someone to share the desolation of the journey with.

She saw those same intelligent grey eyes now, peering back at her. A large knuckle brushed neatly across her cheek.

"You look scared." He murmured, voice thick still with sleep despite his clear gaze. She swallowed slowly, reaching for the open collar of his sleep shirt with tentative fingers, before meeting his gaze again.

"I am scared."

With a frown, he pulled her closer, his nose brushing the shell of her ear.

"Charter forgive me..." She heard him hum.

"For what?" She asked hesitantly. In reply, he merely leaned back and grasped her chin strongly. They were in the middle of a languid kiss before she realized it, her question forgotten to the small ignition in her belly.

She surged up against him, grabbing him tighter, not wanting to chance him stopping. He yanked at her night gown, tugging at the ribbon at the back, growling with frustration when it wouldn't come free. She was about to reach back to help when the sound of shearing fabric halted her.

Glancing down, she was mildly amused to see her gown split down to her navel with one milky breast exposed.

"Was that necessary?" She asked when he paused. His eyes flicked to her and he gave her such a smile that she thought she might swoon, if she was the type of girl to do so.

"No, but this is..." Before she could question, he swooped down and caught her bared breast in his mouth.

"Oh!" She gasped, trying to decide if the warm wet mouth was the cause of the strike of lightening in her veins, or if it was the other hand fondling her free breast.

He released her with a wet 'pop' before switching to the free breast, his hands drifting across her body, from her ears to her knees, wherever he could reach. She herself was unsure what to do with her hands, a well of unfamiliar anxiousness building in her stomach.

He touched her in slow, steady strokes, pausing now and then to grasp her thigh, her hip, shoulder, buttox, and jaw.

She managed to get the blankets all twisted around her legs, and gave a small laugh when he tugged them free with a huff.

He quieted her with a long kiss, tugging the remains of her nightgown over her head when she complained that her arms were trapped. She lay back with a shaky sigh, wanting to squirm under his stare.

When she could take no more of his gaze, she tugged on the hem of his shirt, and without much thought, he yanked it off, tossing it haphazardly behind him.

And then he was on her again, brushing his hands down her body, firmer with each pass until she was arching into him, trying to cope with the fire in her veins.

He paid particular attention to the pink scar across her belly, massaging his fingers across it, following them with soft kisses.

She thought he might have murmured something into her skin, and for a delirious moment she thought he may have been using charter magic, but there was no tell-tale warmth or golden light.

Not that she'd be able to tell a difference in temperature at this point. Her skin was burning up both from his attentions and her shyness.

Her chest was a blazing beacon of blush that reached up her neck and cheeks. He too was flushed, but it was well hidden under the light covering of hair on his chest, and his tanned skin definitely helped.

He met her as her hips arched up, cupping her womanhood suddenly, smoothing down the soft curls that kept her hidden from his gaze.

"Hmm." The noise slipped from the back of her throat and he grinned up at her. He lay sprawled on his side, one knee up, and arm tucked underneath her.

His manhood stood to full attention, bobbing against his belly as he worked her over. One of her hands was braced on his shoulder, the other curled in the sheets, not sure what to do with herself. Without thinking, she reached for him, wanting to feel if he was as smooth he looked.

She could remember inspecting him when he was a figurehead on that boat, first in shyness, and then again in _scientific_ interest.

But there was a marked difference between then and now, mainly the _erectness_. He hissed when her hand closed around him, and he snatched her hand away.

She frowned, concerned she'd hurt him.

He pressed her knuckles to his mouth, then returned her hand to his shoulder.

"Not yet love..." He answered her concerned look, dipping in for a quick kiss. "You first." He breathed into her face, lowering to lap at her breast again and she was distracted when his questing fingers pressed against the little nub at the tip of her opening.

"Ah!" She gasped, her whole body jumping. With a sly grin she wanted to wipe from his face, he twisted his fingers again, bearing down, causing another frisson of pleasure to rocket through her.

"Ow!" He growled and she realized she had a fistful of hair curled so tightly in her fingers, she was probably ripping it from his head.

She made to apologize, breathless and not entirely in her right mind, but he ignored her, slipping the arm underneath her further, her body turning into him.

He now had two hands free, and she almost feared for herself.

His left hand was tucked against the inside of her left hip, applying varying amounts of pressure to that little bundle of nerves he had located while his right had teased along her slit. He would press his blunt fingertips to her entrance, just long enough for her to pause and tense up, waiting for the intrusion, before slipping away to resume his roaming.

He pecked her jaw and neck, nuzzling into her ear, nipping when she was too focused on his hands.

"Relax, love, or neither of us are going to get anywhere.." He whispered into her ear. She turned her head, wanting to tell him that maybe she wasn't ready, feeling a bit of her temper flaring, when he penetrated her.

Her mouth opened in shock, and her body tightened up, undecided whether it liked the intrusion. She looked at him as he worked his finger in and out, biting her lip, trying to sort through her emotions. He was watching her too, eyes studying her every movement, flicking to her mouth when she let her lip go from between her teeth.

The kiss they shared was reminiscent of the one they had by the fountain, punctured by the sharp draw of desire at he rubbed small circles on that wonderful bundle of nerve.

He pumped his hand, in and out, and it occurred to her that he'd managed to get a second finger in her, sunk in to the second knuckle.

But now was not the time to wonder at one point had that happen. Her hips rolled, meeting him, forcing his fingers to roll over her nub harder, causing a jolt that dragged a moan from her mouth.

She nearly whimpered when he pulled his hands from her body, and moved, but by the time she opened her eyes to find where he'd gone, she was startled to feel an entirely different sensation.

With a gasp, she looked down to see the crown of his curly head buried between her thighs. Out of reflex, she clamped her legs closed, tugging on his hair to pull him up.

"Touchstone.." She called, her voice husky even to her ears. He pried her legs open again, opening her up and returning his mouth to her mound.

Scared she might hurt him by slamming her legs closed again, she made the effort to keep them open, her thighs trembling, and stomach muscles jumping.

The awareness of his tongue and mouth on her folds was...different... She could feel the warmth of his tongue as it lapped at her, and the wetness of them both. She was just settling into the feelings when he sucked her bud between his lips and gave a long draw.

The jolt of pleasure was so strong as it zipped from her core that her hips raised off the bed and her nipples tingled. It drew a cry from her which was followed by several attempts at breathing. Blindly, she grasped at the sheets, waiting for the moment to pass, wanting it to never end. She felt her legs slide off his shoulders as he rose, and she managed to glance down. Her brain gave up higher thinking as she watched him kneel between her legs, pulling her until her buttocks met the inside of his thighs, her leg splayed to each side.

A coil of nervous energy spun in her stomach, and she dragged her hands down her own body, hoping to soothe herself.

Touchstone watched this with hooded eyes, leaning over to press a kiss to the inside of one thigh, than the other.

Her eyes flashed to his arousal as it bumped her, and she tossed her head back, covering her eyes with one arm.

She heard him chuckle, but could hardly dignify a response.

Without a word, he returned his fingers to her, pressing them deeply, his free hand holding her hip steady.

Whether it was to steady him or her, she couldn't say.

With her legs spread, and her hips raised, she was pleased to find that his fingers brushed a spot within her that pulsated in time with his movements.

Her mouth seemed like it had a mind of it's own as little noises came pouring out. The breaths what escaped her were more like pants, and she found her own hands wandered to her breasts and stomach, petting herself as she had seen him do to her.

She tossed her head back with a cry when his thumb circled her little nub, pressing down in time with his finger strokes.

Something was building within her, hovering on the edges of her consciousness. Her body jerked and rolled and she had to brace herself on him, grasping the arm that held her hip pinned.

"Please...please, please..." She was begging and she couldn't even say for what. Her stomach was so tightly wound that she thought she might be sick, and her breath was faster and faster.

She shifted her legs, first one then the other, trying to find some relief from the pressure and tension.

It was very nearly painful, and she wanted to beg him to stop, to let up, but it was also an intoxicating burn in her veins that egged her on. She couldn't say if she'd kill him for stopping or not. Her mind was a blur, focusing on the roll of her hips as it met him again, and she thought she could see the peak of this mountain.

She reached for it, but it was just out of reach. Groaning in frustration, she writhed, not sure what she needed to end this suffering, but feeling her body begging for it, whatever it was.

"Stop thinking so much." Came the groan above her. Through hooded eyes, she stared at him, sweaty and red in the face as he worked her over, his hair hanging in his eyes.

She reached for him and he came willingly forward, their mouths crashing together. The peak of the mountain rose up before her again, and this time, she felt it slam into her, more like a wave than anything else.

Her whole body locked up, mind a blazing white light, and she reached up to cover her mouth as sounds that she hadn't been aware she could make came spilling out. She'd been struck by lightening. There was no other explanation. Nevermind that fact that she was in the House and it wasn't storming out. She had been struck by lightening and every nerve in her body was singing.

As she slowly came down from her high, she felt his lips on her breast again, and cradled his head to her.

"What was that?!" She gasped, when she found she could form the words. Nothing the older girls from her school told her had even come close to describing _that_.

But he was already moving.

She managed a glance and saw his shaft was straining up, the bulbous tip nearly purple and leaking. She aught to have felt that curl of nervousness and fear again, but her body was so wonderfully limp.

"We'd better do this right then..." He muttered, and she was sure she'd heard him say "A son then." But couldn't be sure. Perhaps he'd lost his mind to lust, for surely she had.

He pulled her up, their fronts pressed against one another, and she reveled in the friction his chest hair caused her breast, but he was not focused on that. He had her by a strong grip on her buttocks, her hips pressed tightly against his stomach. She draped her arms over his shoulders, threading one head up into his hair, and thinking only of the friction her front felt as she was dragged down long his body. She didn't question the probing at her slit, but waited with bated breath for whatever he would do next. Her mind was still swirling with the pleasure he'd just given her, surely anything this man did would give her pleasure, her mind reasoned.

It was a different kind of sensation as the wide tip of his shaft entered her, and as relaxed as she was, her muscles still tensed.

He groaned, and buried his nose in her throat.

"So tight..." He growled, the noise vibrating through her chest. She felt a dangerous thrill that she could cause such a sound from him, and forced herself to relax, thus sliding her down more upon him. It wasn't a _painful_ experience, not in the strictest terms. It was uncomfortable, just baring down on him, willing her muscles to ease their assault.

"Atta' girl, relax, almost..." He purred, grazing her jaw with his lips. With a slow breath to calm herself further, she gave it one last attempt, forcing her mind to focus on how his hair curled around her finger tips, slick with sweat.

She sunk the last inch, and felt him deeper than she'd ever felt anything in her life. Not the sword that had pierced her belly, not the fear she felt when she received her father's messenger. This man was felt so deep within her, she thought she might be consumed by him, no longer a single person, but two existing as one.

He kissed her then, a quick round of pecks that she took the time to slow down. She realized he was tense, his whole body ready to spring.

She had done this to him, had this power over him.

He held her tightly, and rocked, giving a little twitch of his hips, and she shuddered, gripping his shoulders to hold herself upright.

He wasted no time in drawing that sound from her, again and again. She gave an experimental roll of her hips and he growled, snapping his hips quickly in response. She cried out, both in a bit of pain and pleasant surprise.

"No, don't!" She cried when he slipped out of her. But he just shushed her, turned her around, and pulled her back flush to his front, entering her in one powerful stroke. This was different too.

She had nothing to hold on to, so reached she behind him to grasp and squeeze at his back and buttocks. His hands kept her knees spread, giving him all the room to move while also giving him the chance to pluck and pet her body to his desire, or hers. Her mouth was making it's traitorous noises again as he laid a hand over her bud, applying a constant pressure as he thrust into her body from behind. His other hand was free to tease at her breast, and tickle her ribs while he pressed hot, open mouth kisses to her neck and face.

She tried to return his attentions, trying to meet him for each kiss, trying to roam her hands over his thighs and back, but her body was screaming at her to jut hold on and to not let him stop.

At last, she could not remain upright and fell forward to her hands.

"Oh!" She gasped as this angle allowed him to drive deeper. He kept his one hand pressed to her mound, bearing down on her bud, her other flat against her lower back. It slid up her spin, and forced her chest down.

She realized what he wanted, forcing her back end up.

The constant pressure on her sensitive bundle of nerves at her slit disappeared and without think much, she reached down to supply the sensation her body was craving.

Her own fingers were clumsy, and too rough, but she figured out quick enough what brought the best jolts of pleasure. She should have been embarrassed when she felt him spread her buttocks and rub a thumb over her anus, but nothing made much sense at the moment, and it hadn't been painful, so she wasn't going to complain.

She tried rolling her hips again, and found it difficult to do so, but tried instead to tilt her pelvis one way or the other.

She had just tilted it down when he gave a harsh curse, gripped her tightly by her hips, and pounded into her.

His hips meeting her backend echoed in the room, and she circled harder on her nub, sensing he was nearing his end.

Sure enough, not a moment later, he grabbed her hips hard enough to bruise, and buried himself into her sheath as far as he could go.

She felt a sudden pain, like he'd rammed into something within, and she jerked away, only to be pulled back.

But the pain was gone, even if her heart felt like it was in her throat, and she rested her face on the sheets, trying to catch her breath.

Her bud throbbed incessantly, but she didn't think she could make it light up like he had earlier, so she tried to tune it out.

Instead, she listened to his harsh breathing, wondering as he gave a few slow soft strokes so vastly different from the manic movements he had been doing just second prior.

She felt a gentle kiss to the center of her back, and then felt him pull away, her inner muscles clenching and protesting at his removal.

She did feel... empty?... as he flopped next to her, and her bud still burned in excitement. She sat up, and reached between her legs, skirting around her little sensitive bundle, feeling instead the first drips of his seed from within her.

It was warm and sticky, and not exactly the sweetest smelling thing she'd ever smelled. But no doubt they were both quite ripe with sweat and various fluids.

She studied him, sprawled back on the blankets, chest heaving and face flushed.

His eyes opened, as if feeling her inspecting gaze and gave her a smile. His hand patted her thigh and urged her over.

"Come here, I can't reach you there." She shuffled forward, intent on laying down with him, tucking against his chest.

But she was surprised when he turned her, pulling her back against him, and lifting her leg so it hung over his hip.

This position was reminiscent of the earlier one, and she flushed, thinking there was no way he had the stamina for another round.

He proceeded to prove her correct, merely settling his finger against her buzzing nub and rubbing it back and forth in soft strokes.

His face appeared over her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her cheek, then mouth, as he worked her up into a frenzy with just two fingers.

He circled her folds, pressing his seed back into her sheath in casual strokes, then using that slickness to ease the friction on her bud as he rubbed his fingers quickly against it.

The wave built quickly this time, at least quicker than it had the first time, and was cresting over her head before long, but it was also less powerful. Less like a strike of lightening and more the like filling a glass of water.

Her body hummed and buzzed in pleasure, and her hands found themselves busy, petting and returning any and all of the affection bestowed by him.

He kept a steady pressure until she knocked his hand away, startled that it could become painful so quickly.

He apologized by way of kiss, working his way down and then back up her body.

When at last they lie still, listening to the pre-dawn birds, her hand idly playing in his chest hair, his palming over her belly scar, it occurred to her.

They had just had sex.

It seemed silly that she would think that _now,_ but think it she did. She couldn't stop the grin that stole over her face, and he was quick to notice.

"What're you smiling about so suddenly?" She sat up, leaning over him, braced on her forearms. With a wicked smile which instantly put him on alert, she brushed her mouth against one of his nipples. He was just staring at her when her eyes flashed up.

"Can we do it again?" She asked and he laughed, the unease slipping easily from his face. He nodded, catching her hands before they could wander.

"Sure thing, but first, we sleep." With a groan and a smile, she flopped back down next to him. This is what she had been concerned about, getting involved, things being messy between them. With a small giggle, she conceded that things _were_ messy between them, but there was no reason to be frightened of sex, or her feelings. With a content sigh, she shuffled, closing her eyes and finding herself more tired than she expected.

"I love you Sabriel." He murmured into her hair, his hand still idly moving across her belly. She nodded absently, eyes still closed.

"I love you too, Touchstone."

nnnnnnnnnnnnn nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn nnnnnnnnnnnnnn nnnnnnnnn

He put a babe in her belly. He was sure of it.

Something about all the events leading up from his rescue from a figurehead to this moment told him the Charter had a plan, had always had a plan.

It would make sure the bloodlines were carried on, and who better than the last of each their lines? Any child they had could step into either role.

And a child he was sure she would be carrying now.

He had fought himself for days now, waking early with dreams of this girl in his bed, and having to remind himself that she was young and had such a responsibility placed on her shoulder now.

Nothing would make him happier than sharing with her the love he felt. He was made to love her. He was sure if he hadn't been put into his slumber, he would have never found a woman he loved as much. Or maybe he would have, if reincarnation was an actual thing.

But that didn't matter now, because she was at his side, and he would not leave her for all the gold in the kingdom.

And she was oh so responsive. He hadn't expected that, he thought she might be too shy, to unwilling, to see what lay between them. He expected he would have time, that it would take her some weeks to come around to the inevitable, by then, they could have figured out what they needed to do next.

But no.

He had underestimated her, again.

How could he have thought a girl who would shoulder the problems that faced her with such grace and strength would shy from her feelings?

And when he had woken to her laying next to him, he knew he had to have her. She was his, through and through.

Nothing like the women he had bedded in his time, but he found he could make no comparison now. She was beautiful.

He'd never met someone so beautiful.

And now, she'd bare his baby.

He was equal parts appalled, and thrilled.

She slept so peacefully now, tucked into his side, but he couldn't sleep. He just kept rubbing his fingers over her belly, wondering if he would notice before her? Would she get very sick? Could she still fight the dead while carrying?

Did he want her to?

No.

The Kingdom could wait a few more months, it had survived 200 years already.

Instantly, he felt guilty.

The kingdom had survived 200 years without a Royal on the thrown _because_ of the Abhorsens. How melancholy the line must have been to know they were the last defense the Kingdom had, that they were the last of the bloodlines, besides the Clayr. But those seers never left their glacier.

His gaze returned to the girl at his side.

No.

He could not keep her from doing her duty any more than she would ignore the calls for help. It was in her blood.

He could see the arguments that loomed on the horizon for them.

How could he stress to her that their child was more important?

Would she forgive him for laying with her when he knew his seed would root so quickly?

So he'd done what he could remember, taking her in positions that favored the odds of a boy. They were myths really, but he could vaguely remember the court women he knew begging to carry his sons, off chances he came to the throne.

He knew he would not then, but now, now was different. The Clayr had prophesied a Royal returning to the throne, and his son would be it. He himself could not, would not. He would not leave her side, not to mention the bad blood that ran through his veins.

He petted the pink scar that reminded him how close he came to losing everything. Now, underneath this scar, his babe would grow.

He was sure the Charter had planned for everything.

nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn nnnnnnnnnnnnnn nnnnnnnn

Not entirely proofread, but I'll get to it. Again, the story this bellows to has not been posted yet. The story itself will be 'T' rated, so don't expect it to be this explicit. Haha. This was my first indepth sex scene. I feel like they are a bit OC, but again, something I'll address as I proofread. Hope you enjoyed. Review!


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